


Freckles are Angels’ Kisses

by flaming_homosexual



Series: Good Omens One-Shots [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is So Done (Good Omens), Dorks in Love, Drinking, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi, Nicknames, Other, Pet Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25641568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_homosexual/pseuds/flaming_homosexual
Summary: Crowley goes to Hell for a commendation after a presumed temptation of his goes well. Before leaving he notices a freckle on his cheek that appeared after Aziraphale kissed his cheek (friends do that, right?). Crowley only becomes concerned about it after some teasing from Beelzebub, leading him back to Aziraphale for answers.CW: Mild political humor, drinking, mild self-deprecating  thoughts
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens One-Shots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858720
Comments: 1
Kudos: 86





	Freckles are Angels’ Kisses

Crowley had heard of the saying “freckles are angels’ kisses,” but had never believed it. As much as Crowley adored humans sometimes they were a bit much. He figured the saying was made to help people feel better about themselves, so he never believed it...until one day.

••••

“Damn it,” Crowley hissed, throwing his head back in disgust.

“What is it, dear?” Aziraphale called from upstairs. Currently he was working on touching up the first edition of The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter since Anathema dropped it off that morning. She wanted to be freed from being nothing but a descendent for the rest of her life and knew how much it would mean to Aziraphale if he had it, so she handed it over. To say Aziraphale was bouncing off the walls would be a gross understatement.

Crowley stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase and yelled, “Head office wants to meet with me.”

The scribbling stopped and Aziraphale’s head popped into view.

“What?” He bounded down the stairs, nearly tripping over his messily tied shoelaces. “Why?”

Crowley shrugged, “Some ‘temptation of mine’ went very well, and apparently head office is holding a celebration this afternoon.”

Aziraphale took the letter in his grasp, scanning the lines. Then, he chuckled. Well, giggled, more like. Whatever it was, Crowley adored his angel even more.

“They think,” Aziraphale giggled, hiding his mouth with the back of his sweater-paw hands. “They think you made the Americans vote for—”

“Yes.” Crowley sneered.

“Did you?”

“Please,” Crowley rolled his eyes, taking the letter, “I may be a demon but even I have standards.”

“Fallen angel, my dear.” Aziraphale made sure to emphasize angel.

“Whatever the case, I should probably get ready.” Crowley grabbed his coat from the rack, throwing it on effortlessly. He reached for the door handle when Aziraphale spun him around, holding Crowley’s sunglasses. Aziraphale popped the sunglasses on Crowley’s face and quickly pressed a peck on the demon’s cheek.

“Ehm…” Aziraphale cleared his throat, awkwardly stepping back from Crowley. “That’s for good luck.”

Crowley’s face burned. “Of course.”

As Crowley prepared for his visit to Hell back at home he noticed something. A tiny freckle had appeared on his cheek. Crowley brushed it off, after a while some demon’s skin did begin to freckle and then deteriorate, so he figured it was just his time. The demon certainly wasn’t happy, though.

••••

Hell was as cold as Crowley remembered it. Granted it was at the bottom of the building—which existed outside of time and space—that connected Heaven and Hell and because heat rose demons often found themselves in need of a few coats before reporting to the Head Office.

Crowley, being a cold-blooded snake was impacted by this more than most. He was bundled up in a black turtleneck, motorcycle jacket and scarf and still shivered as he stumbled down Hell’s halls. The demons were packed in like sardines, you couldn’t walk without brushing shoulders with at least two other beings.

He shuffled along, eventually ducking into the main meeting room. Chattering demons were scattered across the room, the only one seated being Beelzebub, Ruler of Hell. Crowley tried his best to blend in with the crowd.

“Crowley.”

Beelzebub stood, beckoning him to their throne.

“Yeah,” Crowley offered a small wave, “Hi.”

Beelzebub miracled two glasses of wine.

“Brilliant work you’re doing down there,” They commended. “At least from what I’ve heard.”

Crowley almost laughed. If he was honest, he hadn’t performed a proper temptation in years. Crowley disturbed human life in more discreet ways; heavy traffic patterns, disrupting phone networks, and the occasional flirtation with humans in romantic relationships. He worked well, not hard. If there was a way for him to barely lift a finger but still make people miserable he’d take it in a heartbeat.

Instead, he smirked. “It’s nothing, really.”

“What are you doing on Earth these days?” Beelzebub absentmindedly swished their wine around their glass. 

“Eh, you know,” Crowley shrugged, “Temptation here, temptation there.”

The Ruler of Hell smirked knowingly.

“Anything else?”

“What else d’ya want to know?” Crowley defended himself, “Where I live and my bloody pants size?”

Beelzebub growled, grabbing Crowley’s collar and pulling him down to their level.

“Speak to me that way again and you’ll regret the day you were created.”

 _I already do,_ Crowley grumbled in his head.

Beelzebub then gasped, muttering under their breath.

“What?” Crowley asked, near monotone.

They motioned to the side of Crowley’s face.

“You’ve got a freckle.”

“And?”

Beelzebub scoffed, “You seriously don’t know?”

“Know what?” Crowley pushed them back, “What the Heaven are you talking about?”

Beelzebub laughed, heading off to a group of demons that had congregated. In the middle of the musky room, Hastur and Ligur were draped across one another, doubled over in hysterics. Several bottles of beer were lined at their feet which Beelzebub miracled away with a flick of their wrist.

Crowley stayed tight on Beelzebub’s trail. Normally Crowley wouldn’t have given a blessing about their opinion of him, but something about their tone was too teasing for his comfort. Just as Crowley reached out to grab their attention, Hastur pulled him back.

“Crowley!” He drawled, alcohol streaming from his breath. “How you doing?”

“I’ve been better,” Crowley grumbled.

“Come on,” Ligur’s dark grumble rumbled through his chest. He threw an arm around Crowley from the other side, “Relax! ‘Ave a drink!”

Crowley struggled in their grasp, but the drunken demons kept talking. They swayed from side to side to some God-awful pop song. They sang—well, more screamed—the lyrics directly at Crowley, nearly throwing the neurodivergent demon into sensory overload. Of all the things the Almighty could afflict him with it had to be ADHD.

Ligur began jumping to the beat, his drink sloshing all over Crowley, flattening his hair and staining his coat. The one thing besides his houseplant that he gave a shit about was his sense of fashion and now his bloody outfit was ruined.

He shoved away Hastur and Ligur, shooting across the room before they knew he was gone. (Although Crowley wasn’t sure they even noticed he’d gone, as the lizard on Ligur’s head was now licking Hastur’s frog. The demons were having a good laugh about it.) He scanned the crowd, spotting Beelzebub lounging with their legs over the side of their throne, nursing another glass of wine. Crowley groaned, dragging himself back to them.

“What?” They asked.

“What the Heaven do freckles mean?”

Beelzebub let out a laugh.

“You’ve lived on Earth as long as its existed.”

Crowley threw his hands in the air, “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Beelzebub sighed, rolling their eyes. The gigantic fly on their head mimicked their actions.

“You know what the humans say about freckles, right?”

Crowley shook his head, much to Beelzebub’s amusement. Their smirk threw them into a fit of laughter, their bottle of wine now discarded on the cold, unforgiving stone floor. The fire of rage exploded from Crowley.

“You’ve been messing with me this whole time, haven’t you?” Crowley growled. “I don’t know what I expected,” he scolded himself and grabbed the wine bottle from the floor. “I’m heading back to Earth.”

Without another word Crowley sauntered out of the room, taking a swig of wine as he walked. By the time he returned to his apartment the bottle had been finished twice over, leaving the demon heavily drunk and tired. He kicked open the door to his apartment, sent some burning gazes at his shuddering houseplants and collapsed in bed. Finally, he could rest.

••••

The next morning Beelzebub’s words rang in Crowley’s ears. 

“ _You know what the humans say about freckles, right?_ ” 

Crowley still had no idea what they were talking about and decided he would ask Aziraphale as soon as he was back on Earth.

The demon treated himself to a nice cup of tea and lounged back on his throne as he called Aziraphale.

“Good morning, Crowley!” Aziraphale chirped, “I take it the meeting went well?”

“T’was hellish as always.” Crowley straightened up. “Something Beelzebub said is nagging at me.”

“What did they say, dear? Is it bad? Is it about armageddon?”

Crowley chuckled; anxious as always.

“You worry too much, Angel. It’s nothing like that.” Crowley said. “Before I went to the meeting I noticed this freckle on my cheek. Didn’t think much of it before Beelzebub said something about a saying humans have about freckles. I didn’t know what they were talking about and figured you might know since you’ve always got your nose in a book.”

Aziraphale gasped then was quiet for a moment. Sometimes Crowley wished he could know what was going through the angel’s mind.

“Angel?”

For a moment there was nothing but static which left Crowley wondering if he’d said something wrong.

“Come over to my shop, I’ve got an idea of what this might be.”

Aziraphale hung up.

Crowley was certain he’d never driven faster in his life. Considering it was nearing midnight there were few pedestrians around. Many of them heckled the demon as he drove past—and rightfully so considering he was going nearly 100 miles per hour. He skidded to a halt in front of Aziraphale’s shop, parking diagonally in front of the door.

Crowley waved the door open and shut them frantically as he saw Aziraphale rushing toward him. He grabbed Crowley by the wrist and dragged him up the spiral staircase to his living area. Open books were sprawled over most of his plush, off-white couch, notes scribbled hastily in the margins. Aziraphale picked up one of his notebooks and vintage fountain pens, preparing to take notes.

“So,” Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets. “What do you think it is?”

Without a word Aziraphale approached the demon and planted a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. Within seconds a freckle formed where Aziraphale had kissed; his hypothesis was correct.

“What the Heaven was that for?” Crowley grumbled, beet red nonetheless.

“The humans, um,” Aziraphale stuttered, “They have a saying, ‘freckles are angel’s kisses.’ I never supposed it was true until now.”

Crowley’s jaw dropped.

“You’re joking.”

Aziraphale cocked a brow, “Do you want me to prove it to you?”

 _If it means you’ll kiss me more,_ Crowley thought wistfully, _I’ll take it._

Aziraphale almost rolled his eyes, dragging Crowley to the piano across the room. Atop it laid a small, crystalline mirror. Aziraphale made sure Crowley could see both of them in the reflection. The angel popped Crowley’s sunglasses off his face and cupped one cheek in his palm. He leaned in and kissed Crowley’s cheek, then watched Crowley’s eyes widen in awe as he watched another tiny freckle grace his face.

“Well,” Crowley turned to the angel, awestruck. “I’ll be blessed.”

••••

Years passed before Crowley was called down to Hell for another celebration of his temptations. This time it was something about Britain leaving the European Union. Crowley supposed they thought it was him since he’d been working out of Soho for the past few centuries.

He sauntered through the main hall of Hell brushing off the whispers and gasps from other demons as he passed by. Despite the taunting Crowley held his head high, even pointing finger guns at Hastur when he yelled at him.

Crowley turned into the party room which was practically shaking to the beat of the blaring music. The honorable demon grabbed a drink from the corner of the room and stuck to the wall for the majority of the party. He watched as the other demons danced and grinded against one another, drinks sloshing across the dance floor with each step.

Crowley took a sip from his red solo cup and nearly choked on his bourbon—straight bourbon, the chaotic bitch—when he saw Beelzebub standing in front of him. To his surprise, they were smiling.

“Glad to see you finally show up,” the Ruler of Hell sneered.

“Well, you know,” Crowley brushed them off, “Places to go, people to tempt.”

Beelzebub smirked, “Those freckles of yours say otherwise.”

Crowley hissed, although he knew Beelzebub was right. He was still looking after Warlock, of course, but he’d been spending most of his time with Aziraphale. Dinner dates after long days of work, lazy weekends in the book shop filled with Aziraphale reading poetry to him, and nights spent laying in Aziraphale’s warm embrace that allowed all of his fears to melt away.

Many of those nights Aziraphale would kiss Crowley, and vice versa of course. Good night kisses on his forehead, good morning ones on the cheek. Soon enough the freckles were mapped out across Crowley’s face and began to spread down the rest of his body. The freckles now covered all of Crowley’s body from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Aziraphale once compared them to a galaxy, giving Crowley the new nickname of Serpens, after the snake constellation. Crowley practically melted every time Aziraphale offhandedly called him Serpens.

“Shut it,” Crowley snapped under his breath. Beelzebub chuckled.

“Relax,” they put a hand on his shoulder, “I won’t tell anyone.”

They pointed to a few freckles spotted across their neck along with some recent bruises. Crowley nearly spurted bourbon out of his nose.

“Damn,” Crowley mused, “Guess Gabriel isn’t as innocent as he seems.”

“Oh most certainly not,” Beelzebub smirked with a wink. Crowley nearly heaved. “You better not tell anyone.”

Crowley shook his head, “As long as you keep quiet about my angel and I, my lips are sealed.”

The demons shook on it.

••••

Crowley returned to the bookshop that night, coming up from behind Aziraphale and wrapping his arms around his angel. Aziraphale squeaked, melting into Crowley’s touch.

“You’re here early,” The angel turned and buried his face in Crowley’s chest, “Not that I’m complaining, of course.” He met Crowley’s uncovered eyes. “How was it?”

Crowley just smiled innocently, leaned down and kissed Aziraphale with all the affection he could muster. His hand ran over the angel’s waist, Aziraphale clutching onto Crowley’s coat, moving them as close as possible to one another. They came up for air, brushing their noses against each other.

“I suppose it went well then,” Aziraphale smiled, “my dear Serpens.”

Crowley buried his head in Aziraphale’s shoulder, groaning and red as he could ever be.

“That name gives you too much power, Angel.”

Aziraphale grinned, “I love you too, Crowley.”


End file.
